


Pas de Deux, Pas de Don't

by Nenalata



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballroom Dancing, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, It's just glenn don't worry about it, M/M, Mentioned Glenn (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Miklan (Fire Emblem), Sylvain is a good student despite being the absolute worst, it's just miklan don't worry about it glenn is great, mentioned child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: Felix, for some reason Sylvain couldn't quite deduce, hated him. It probably wasn't for any good reason. Sylvain was just kind of better at everything from grades to girls to good-looking features, but everyone knewthat.Sylvain, for some reason Felix couldn't explain, repulsed him. It was probably for a good reason. Felix worked harder, studied harder, danced better, but everyone knewthat.They wouldn't pair well as friends, to say nothing of being partnered up for the nation-wide university ballroom dance competition. There simply was no chance.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 127





	Pas de Deux, Pas de Don't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mott](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mott/gifts).



> Thanks to Mott for informing me there are zero Enemies to Friends to Lovers Sylvix fics in the entirety of AO3 and asking me to remedy this!! I hope you enjoy this desperately-needed contribution *nod nod* Seriously, though, this vibe is ideal for them, and I hope you like it as much as I did making them bicker!!

Felix, for some reason Sylvain couldn't quite deduce, hated him.

Sylvain suspected, at first, the issue was their shared history. The way they had grown and grown apart. Neither of them had expected to see their old childhood bestie in the same university, much less same dorm, much less same competitive university dance troupe. Sylvain had enjoyed college life three years longer than Felix, and running into the guy who used to burst into tears whenever Sylvain had to go home only to see said guy glaring at him as if _he_ was the girl Sylvain was avoiding...

Well. It didn't make either of them particularly excited to get chummy again.

It probably wasn't because, long after Sylvain had dashed off a shitty conclusion paragraph and yawned off to bed, Felix worked in the common room until the wee hours, typing up some obscure essay for the history class they shared. And _probably_ not because Sylvain tended to get better grades on those papers.

And it definitely wasn't because of how many flexible, adventurous babes Sylvain kept scooping off the dance floor during practice and into his bed. Glowering Felix seemed as interested in the ladies as they were in him.

Well, whatever. Sylvain had better things to do than worry about one freshman's weird hatred of him.

Besides, it was a stupid thing to get distracted by.

* * *

Sylvain, for some reason Felix couldn't explain, repulsed him.

His face, at first, was familiar. Ingrid had to remind him, "Isn't that the guy who used to babysit you?" for Felix's brain to catch up to his eyes, flash some mortifying memories of running out of bed in tears the second he heard Sylvain saying a quiet good night to his father.

But that wasn't _why_ , although Felix had no better reasoning.

Yes, Sylvain was lazy, brilliant, _lazy_ , giving up on assignments halfway through only to make some nerd girl swoon over his stellar analysis in class. Yes, he flirted incessantly with any girl who dared cross his path, then ran away from ex-lovers should he cross _their_ vengeful paths. Yes, he didn't take the university dance team seriously, not in the slightest, spending most of practice and rehearsal flirting and whispering instead of paying attention, memorizing routines, even going to the gym at all, when the paired ballroom competition was coming up and Felix's _father_ was going to attend, to see what all the fuss was about Garreg Mach's dance minor about...

Well. Whatever. That was probably the reason Felix felt such intense, weird, burning hatred.

But it wasn't really like it was all that distracting,

* * *

"Wow, what _footwork._ You looked like a regular little sword-dancer, didn't you?"

A giggle. "Oh, stop, you. It's just the routine."

"Yeah, but you were the one who made it _work_. You really incorporate such passion into your moves, you know."

"Passion? Me? I don't know..."

"Oh, absolutely." Drawling, sensual, meaningful syllables. "I bet you could show _me_ some passionate moves sometime." A calculated beat. "On the dance floor, I mean."

"O-oh. Well, if you want to...partner up for the competition, I suppose I—"

A chunk of rosin bounced off Sylvain's temple. "Shit!"

Felix smirked, shaking off rosin dust from his dance shoes. "Sorry." He did not sound sorry. "Got stuck in my sole. Guess my aim was off."

The smile Sylvain offered him was a few degrees below 'chilly.' Annette stopped giggling, confused eyes darting back and forth between the two. "No, I get it," Sylvain agreed. "Coordination's not your forte. Something to work on before the competition, huh, pal?"

"I'm not your pal."

"Right."

The air between them grew even colder. All three of them—Sylvain, the girl, Felix—flinched when Professor Eisner clapped her hands from across the room. The rest of the team had already gathered around her. "If everyone's hydrated, pair up. I need to get a sense of where you're all at for midterms."

Sylvain offered his hand to the _passionate footwork_ girl, who took it. Felix nodded when his usual partner Mercedes, a curvaceous girl with a smile too sweet for his attitude, took his elbow. Neither of them looked away from their antagonist until the music blasted through expensive speakers and their partners twirled to face them.

* * *

When their emails dinged at the same time with news about the updated Team Drive, neither Felix nor Sylvain paid much attention.

Sylvain, for his part, had moved on to his next victim. A svelte brunette voice major had replaced Annette the 'sword-dancer' and, wouldn't you know it, she and Sylvain (and Felix) lived in the same dorm! Convenient, right? Wait, you’re Dorothea, right…?

Felix, for his, had set up camp in the same common room for hours before Sylvain had shown up—and, likely enough, for hours after Sylvain's inevitable flight—and had not budged. Midterms had hit the twelfth-century history course with a vengeance, and not only was a multiple-choice-plus-short-response exam looming in the horizon, but a 'small' research paper of five to six pages was due the day before.

Felix was the first to realize the new email was about the end-of-term competition. But Sylvain was the first to open it, because he'd been busy inputting Dorothea’s number into his phone.

They read it over at the same time, steadfastly ignoring the other's presence.

They finished reading it at the same time.

They reread it at the same time.

And their eyes met at the same time.

"The fuck is this bullshit?" Felix spat, almost shoving his laptop off his knees.

"The fuck's this?" Sylvain whispered, nearly dropping his phone.

_'Happy midterms, dancers._

_Hope they're treating you better than this autumn chill. I'm super sick and maybe a little delirious, but after reviewing your progress the other day, I've decided it best to match the competition pairs myself. I've carefully considered each partner's strengths and weaknesses and accommodated for any requests previously made to me, but if for whatever reason you'd like to discuss further with me, please feel free to drop by my office hours._

_Actually, maybe just email or something. I'm probably too sick. Hopefully I'll see your email in time._

_Check the Team Drive for the spreadsheet. Try not to get sick, too._

_Best,_

_Prof B.'_

As Sylvain and Felix discovered later—many, many, many progressively-more-outraged ignored emails later—more than three-quarters of the class had requested not to be paired with either of them. Sylvain had infuriated the majority of the girls, and Felix had intimidated just about the same.

Besides, the feverish Professor Eisner declared, their strengths and weaknesses probably made them a better pair than the students who had wanted to be with their friends, and no, she refused to elaborate on what those 'strengths' and 'weaknesses' even _were_ , because the Ny-Quil was hitting her hard.

* * *

"Of course I _glanced_ at the choreography," an outraged Sylvain said, pressing his hand to his heart. Felix wasn't sure how genuine the outrage was. Or the contrite gesture. Probably neither.

"Ah. So you paid attention to the pictures." Felix crossed his legs on the practice room floor and shuffled the papers. "And the video?"

"Pictures? What pictures? I just saw the video." Sylvain tapped a few keys on his laptop, spinning it around from its perch on the piano bench. "This one, right?"

Felix squinted, trying to make out the grainy routine recorded twenty-something years ago. "That's the wrong one."

"Gotcha." The words dripped disdain, but a faint smile remained on Sylvain's face. "So what's the right one?"

"It's in the Drive. She literally gave us a link."

"Link? There's no link. What are you—"

" _Gautier_ ," Felix almost yelled. It took everything in his power not to crumple the choreography diagrams in his hands.

" _Fraldarius_. Shout louder, will you? I know for a fact these rooms are pretty damn soundproof, actually—"

"It's in," Felix said, quieter and through gritted teeth, "the Drive."

“Where—oh, I see.”

Nothing, _finally_ , save the soft, thoughtful clicks of keyboard keys and mouse scrolls. Felix sorted through the papers, trying and failing to conceptualize the abstract images into Felix- and Sylvain-shaped figures. Professor Eisner had choreographed the lead and follow roles in an odd way; Felix would have accused any ‘follow’ partner of back-leading in any other case. Didn’t she realize how important this competition was, not just to a disciplined student, but to Garreg Mach’s own future success in the competitive ballroom scene? But, as he’d learned, the woman did know what she was doing. Or maybe she really _had_ been delirious—

“Wait, you _printed_ those? That’s like, an entire lunch’s worth of card swipes.”

“It’s easier to read,” Felix protested, sounding more defensive than he meant.

Sylvain positively cackled. “Holy shit! That’s adorable, actually.”

“ _What_.”

“Glad to see you still like picture books. Should I read it to you?”

Yes. She had been delirious.

Whatever strengths she _claimed_ Sylvain had wouldn’t come close to balancing Felix’s own ‘weaknesses.’

* * *

“Man, you could at least pretend you like me,” Sylvain complained, dragging Felix through a weird twirl-to-swap…thing. Felix, if possible, stiffened more. “C’mon,” Sylvain insisted, tugging on their joined hands, “you know I can feel through this, right? You don’t need to _squeeze_.”

Felix yanked him forward, and Sylvain stumbled. But the asshole didn’t even wait for him to regain his footing. No, he just kept going, following the _choreography_ like a mechanized soldier.

“Hold up,” Sylvain said.

Felix did not hold up.

“I said—” Sylvain held his ground, planted his feet firm and even on the floor, and let Felix careen into him when he came around again, “hold _up_.”

Sylvain felt no small amount of vicious delight when Felix fumbled, too. The glare it earned him felt even better.

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“You’re taking it _too_ seriously.”

Felix scoffed. He crossed his arms, huffing a stray lock of hair from his face. “I don’t like this any more than you do—”

“Well, you’ve made _that_ abundantly clear—”

“Let me finish.” Although Sylvain rolled his eyes, he complied, and was he imagining it, or had Felix’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch? “I’m equally uninterested in being your partner as you are. But I refuse to let a good-for-nothing flirt like you cost me a medal. So if you’re going to slack off, then it’s up to me to make up for it.”

Sylvain made no effort to mask his shock. He was used to vitriolic remarks, caustic analyses of his character made straight to his face. He was used to them being _right_ , or at least being close enough to the mark it was easier to agree, laugh it off, and move on.

This, however, was the stupidest reason to hate him Sylvain had _ever_ heard.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Sylvain said. Even he could hear the laugh in his voice, and it made that tension coil back into Felix’s posture. “It’s _pair_ dancing, remember? It’s gonna look pretty bad for your _medal_ if you dance like…like _that_.” He flailed his arms in Felix’s tense direction. Felix, if possible, glowered harder.

“Like _what_ , Gautier?”

Honestly, who even talked like that anymore? “Like you’re dancing alone. Like you’re pretending no one’s helping you out—hell, like you’re pretending _you’re_ not supporting someone.”

Professor Byleth always emphasized the importance of partner connection. “Not too loose that you break apart when you trip. Not too tight to suffocate,” she’d demonstrated, squeezing Sylvain’s hand until he almost wheezed. Frankly, it had been his own fault for complimenting the young, well-endowed new professor’s _flattering_ tank top, but his fingerbones protested the rest of class.

While Sylvain rubbed his freshly-sore fingers, Felix had gone very still.

“You’re full of shit,” Felix informed him when Sylvain realized the silence had gone on too long.

The—true—statement startled a laugh out of him. “That’s me. Bullshitting my way through grades, life, and love.”

Felix, predictable as ever, ignored him. “But you have a point. Let’s start again.”

“Yes, by all means, make _all_ the decisions. You’re a great listener, you know?”

Felix— _hesitated_ before taking his hand again. “I…you’re right. Do you…Where do you…If we can…”

This was just painful. Sylvain took pity and rescued him.

“Probably from the start,” he agreed. “Maybe try out the whole ‘pretending we don’t want to break each other’s hands’ thing, right?”

* * *

As it turned out, Sylvain surpassed Felix _especially_ when he put effort into something. Felix almost hated him a little more for how he breezed his way past midterms, studying and writing until the last minute each time. But it took one evening of accidentally stumbling into Sylvain, crouched against a grimy armchair in the common room with his laptop, surrounded by highly-specific books on medieval cartography tools, for Felix to see Sylvain actually did care about a handful of things other than being a total ass.

 _Passions_ , maybe he’d call it. With a stupid wink. Something Felix was growing adept at ignoring.

But he didn’t call it anything. Pretended it was a hobby, ‘just figured it made for a good research topic,’ something that didn’t interest him past the rapidly-approaching final.

So it made sense how Sylvain had run into _Felix_ in the ID-accessible practice rooms late one night and had immediately pretended he couldn’t sleep.

“Girl problems, you know how it is,” he’d winked. “But since you’re here, takes two to tango, right?”

They ended up practicing most nights after that. And if Felix ever forgot, ever wandered around past his usual bedtime, just randomly, just sleeplessly…He could usually see their—one specific practice room’s window flickering in the darkness, a solitary shadow winking the light through campus like a beacon.

“I think we stand a decent chance,” Sylvain panted one night, scrubbing his face with Felix’s offered towel.

Felix quirked his lips in a vague grimace.

“Nice pout.”

“It’s not—I’m just thinking.”

“Right.” Sylvain tossed the sweaty towel into the corner and sank to the floor. His head made an unpleasant _thunk_ as it hit the wood. “So what are you _thinking_ about? You look…not great.”

Felix gnawed at his lip, debating how much he was willing to share. It wasn’t a lot, frankly. “Thanks. This is how you charm all your girls?” he hedged.

“They’re not _my_ girls.” Sylvain frowned at him. “And _you’re_ not one of them.”

Something warm and frightened twisted in Felix’s chest.

“My father texted me today.”

Sylvain didn’t reply.

“He can’t come to the competition. Which is fine. I don’t really care that much.” Maybe just a little. “But…it felt…there was another, um, he came to, uh…”

“Glenn’s?”

Sylvain’s voice felt quiet in the echoey practice room.

“Yeah,” Felix hated how his voice cracked, “he came to Glenn’s. I…didn’t think you remembered him.”

“Yep. Everyone did. My parents went to the funeral.” More silence. “I don’t think you’d actually met ‘em.”

Felix startled, glancing at Sylvain out of the corner of his eye.

Who?

What faceless well-wishers from his agonized memory had looked like this suddenly-thoughtful guy sprawled on this laminated wooden floor beside him?

“I guess I get why it’s so freaky to you. I mean, not in the same way, but…” Sylvain hadn’t noticed the way Felix was studying his face, the angles of his jaw, the strong features Felix had seen on no one memorable save him. But Felix was quick to turn his gaze back to his shoes when Sylvain turned his head with a painfully soft smile. “You had some big shoes to fill, huh?”

“No. There is no one but me.” The words stuck in his throat like a lie. Felix shook himself. “I didn’t see _you_ at the funeral,” he tried to change the subject, but it came out as an accusation.

Sylvain’s voice held too much cheer when he replied, “Nah, I’m sorry. I spent spring break in the hospital. Brotherly love, am I right?” The darkness in his laughter made Felix shiver. “Anyway. I’m sorry about your dad, Felix.”

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t dare to look at Sylvain’s smile when he said, “Let’s kick ass so hard he’ll regret missing it. How’s that sound?”

* * *

Sylvain decided, without informing Felix of this opinion, it didn’t matter they’d lost.

The rest of the class had done spectacularly poorly, for one thing, so the fact _their_ pair had made it to top five pleased him in some ugly, gleeful way. Number five out of twenty-five was still…something.

Their outfits got them a ridiculous amount of compliments from half a dozen other competitors, for another. This fact interested Sylvain more than it did Felix, to no one’s surprise, but the real pleasure there was seeing how stoic, callous, no-nonsense Felix’s cheeks could flush the most exciting shade of pink when under duress.

He then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to see if he could make it happen again.

“Did you see the guy in front swoon when you gave him that _look_?” Sylvain teased, rubbing his sore feet in the locker room. Felix chucked his own shoes in Sylvain’s vague direction. “The patented Felix Fraldarius _smolder_.”

“It wasn’t a smolder. Also, shut up.”

Felix, it appeared, was determined not to attract attention from the other dancers still lingering. Sylvain was determined to make Felix blush.

The combination was not a good one.

“Like, yeah, the winners were definitely showing more skin than us—”

“Sylvain, what is _wrong_ with—”

“—and I get Eisner’s choreography was _unconventional_ and the Seiros School is traditional, but _damn_ ,” Sylvain punctuated the sentence with a wolf whistle, “I bet you’re making those judges wish they didn’t run a nice little church school if they got to see _you_ every day—”

“If you’re going to say shit like that, at least wait until we’re alone,” Felix snapped.

And that gorgeous pink flooded to his cheeks only seconds later.

Sylvain tried to crack a joke. He did. He really did.

But instead, with the way that blush spread across Felix’s face, the way his eyes widened in embarrassment but something…not unpleasant…

“Yeah, okay,” he stammered through a laugh instead. “Sorry, sure.”

Felix muttered something unintelligible and threw his gym bag over his shoulder. And then Sylvain’s.

Sylvain stumbled into his shoes. “Here, I can take that,” he said, reaching out his hand.

“No.”

Seriously? Seriously, he was _actually_ going to keep up this stoic, callous act even after _all_ this—

Felix smirked, and the red in his cheeks and the shy way he averted his eyes made something warm and frightened pound in Sylvain’s heart. “Didn’t you say I should stop pretending I’m not supporting someone?”

Sylvain blinked, stunned, at a loss for words, and that strange sense of courage radiating from Felix’s body shriveled in on itself. “Whatever, let’s just—”

Sylvain scrambled after him and threw his arm over Felix’s shoulders. His significantly-smaller frame almost buckled. “What, by carrying my _bag_? We’re gonna have to start somewhere _way_ more ‘supportive,’ Felix—”

“I regret everything.”

“Aw, come on. You don’t feel that _connection_ anymore? After we’ve been through so—”

The teasing note dropped from Sylvain’s voice when Felix mumbled, “I still do.”

Well, Sylvain didn’t have much to say to that.

Not much besides, “Great. Me too.”

They spent the rest of the walk to the bus in silence, Sylvain’s arm still slung around Felix’s shoulder, over two gym bags weighing them both down, weirdly but comfortably balanced.

For some reason neither of them understood, it felt easier to walk that way.


End file.
